Jonah’s crying interrupts my 10 p.m. reverie. He is shaking in fright, counting “4,5,6,7, 8,10 Mummy, mummy.” Janet is in bed with the flu. He wants her. Her involvement with “A Taste of Honey” has been consuming. For days he’s been shuffled around. Neither of us have time for him. And he’s just starting kindergarten, a world of rules and crimes and older kids and bullies and beautiful powerful girls and a friendly but harassed authority, and another not so friendly authority. He’s just back from Denver, where his grandparents provided the life he wants. Today in the car he said he prefers Vancouver to Lund and Denver to Vancouver. He wanted to hear Lise’s letter and Henry’s story written for him last spring.

The child has such a tie with his grandparents. If I could be more like them he and they would like me better. They give lots of support”as long as there is enough money and some professional status. I fear their loss. Henry is 70, Lise 66. I fear them dying.

Autumn blues; the fear is descending. Perhaps with my first week of classes, the first film, it will pass. Or perhaps not, until the play is over. The potential is here for the order we seek. The time for each other and our creative pursuits. Will it come?

September 13

Indian summer has deserted us. It’s grey and blowing hard this morning. I sigh with anxiety¦and yet exaggerate. Jan is under greater pressure and she sleeps. I fear the chill. I wish to placate and propitiate. When is the day of atonement?

A coffee break between loads of dishes
Evening sun through a gash in the clouds
Goats moving in the rain
Grass green grows lush like June.
Cat Stevens scratchy record.
Jan and Joe iron initials on his new school bag.
Tomorrow the first day.